Suddenly in Love (Lake Haven#1) (17 page)

“He
does
?” Mia said and peered closely at Brennan.

“Are you from around here?” Jesse asked.

“Me? No,” Brennan said.

“I could swear we’ve met,” Jesse said.

“Why does everyone say that about you?” Mia asked laughingly.

“I must have one of those faces,” Brennan said. Whatever that meant. He turned away from the two of them back to the wall so that Adonis couldn’t study him too closely.

“You know how it is, Mimi. Everyone looks like someone we went to school with, right?”

Mimi?
She was Mimi to this guy?

“Remember David Green?”

“Umm . . .” Mia squinted into the distance, apparently trying to conjure up David Green. “I think?”

“I swear I see him about every three months,” Jesse said. “Only he lives in Europe now, so I’m pretty sure it’s not him. But so many guys look just
like
him. It’s weird.”

The two of them laughed together about the weirdness of David Green’s doppelganger.

Jesse turned his big, friendly smile back at Brennan. “So what do you do, Brennan?”

“Not much, really,” Brennan said vaguely.

“That’s not true,” Mia said. “You’re a musician.”

In this context,
musician
sounded so lame. For the first time in his life, Brennan wished he were a Navy Seal or a spy, especially when he glanced at Jesse and could tell he thought
musician
sounded lame, too.

“What kind of music?” Jesse asked.

“All kinds,” Brennan said.

“Love songs,” Mia said.

Something flickered in Jesse’s eye. “Cool,” he said, although it was clear to Brennan that Adonis didn’t think it was cool at all. Yeah, well he’d bet the bastard had probably sung a few of his songs driving around town.

“Do you teach?” Jesse asked.

Did he
teach
? This guy thought he was a school teacher? “No.”

“Hey, that’s a
great
idea,” Mia said. “You could get a job with the East Beach schools and teach guitar lessons. We never had a music teacher at school. Did we?” she asked Jesse curiously.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know—I was always into sports.”

Naturally. “Speaking of work,” Brennan said, “I should get back to it.”

“He’s writing music,” Mia said to Jesse.

“Oh yeah?” Jesse’s gaze flicked over him. “A song?”

Brennan adjusted his sunglasses. “Actually, a soundtrack for a film.”

Jesse’s smile was full of undisguised amusement. “Good for you! You know, I should get to work, too. Mia, I want to show you something . . . that is, if you’re all through here,” he said, gesturing between her and Brennan.

“I think we are,” she said and looked questioningly at Brennan. He didn’t say or do anything. “Okay. See you later?” she said, and with a smile, she walked away with Jesse.

There was a swing to her hip Brennan hadn’t noticed before.
Damn it
.

He reminded himself he wasn’t in competition with Adonis. There really was no good reason for Brennan to take off his sunglasses and tell him the truth as he so badly wanted to do.
Yeah, fuckwad, you know me. I am Everett Alden from Tuesday’s End. Think I ought to teach guitar lessons now?

The moment he did something like that, word would get out, and Chance would find him—not to mention the press—and Gary, too, and Brennan couldn’t face that. Not yet. He needed more time. He just needed more time. And since when was he so jealous, anyway? He hadn’t mustered up this much energy when the grainy photos of Jenna kissing her costar had cropped up on all the tabloids.

Brennan dragged himself back to his work, feeling dejected that Mia was interested in some other man. He told himself to forget it. He was determined to hammer out some of the rougher transitions in the song and improve the bridge. Forget about East Beach and honey eyes and conversations he never got to have with anyone else. He looked at the sheets of music he’d written.

Was this all there was?

His work that afternoon was a mess. Around five, he heard laughter drifting in through the open windows of his room. He got up to look out and saw Mia walking with Jesse. He stood in the shadows and watched Jesse put her bike in the back of his pickup truck, then watched Jesse walk her around to the passenger side of his truck, his hand on her shoulder. And then on her neck.

What was that tightening in the muscles of Brennan’s neck and jaw as the pickup moved out of the gate? Ah, yes, that would be your standard full-blown male ego feeling a jealous rage.

He brooded about it all night.

The next morning, Brennan was waiting for Mia when she stuck her foot in through the front door. “Get back!” she shouted at the dogs who rushed to attack, and she pushed the door wider, nudging them away from her as Brennan strolled out of the kitchen with coffee in hand. He whistled; the dogs turned and raced back to the kitchen.

She inched her way in, saw him standing there, and smiled so brightly that the dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Oh, hey! You’re up early. Was there a fire?” She laughed at her joke.

His gaze skimmed over her. She was wearing a dress that looked as if it had been made from maps. Actual road maps, with the creases of the folds still visible.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, and glanced down at herself. “I didn’t get paint on it, did I?”

“No. I like it.” Jesus, he felt nervous. He had a plan, but he feared he was standing on the precipice of utter rejection, and frankly, he feared how he would handle it if that happened.

“Well
that’s
a ringing endorsement,” she said sunnily. “I don’t suppose you know how hard it is to glue maps to muslin.”

“I don’t. But it’s cool.”

“Really? Maybe I’ll make you a matching shirt. Well, not matching. I ran out of New York maps. You would have to be Connecticut. Or California. Name your state.”

He didn’t name his state.

Mia smiled, but she looked confused. She hoisted the bag on her shoulder and took a step toward the north hall. “Okay, well . . .”

“Wait,” he said quickly.

She waited.

“Ah . . .”

Mia shifted. Brennan swallowed, madly debating what he was about to do. She peered closely at him. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? No!” he said, and held out his coffee cup as proof.

“Sorry,” she said, throwing up a hand. “But you’re acting kind of weird.”

“Right. I wanted to ask . . . I was thinking about . . .” For God’s sake, he couldn’t even talk. He dragged his fingers through his hair and blurted, “Have you ever heard of Stratford Corners?”

“In the Adirondacks? Sure.”

“They have a juried art festival there this weekend.”

“Yep, I know all about it,” she said, nodding. “Actually, I’ve entered twice.”

“You have?”

She giggled. “Don’t look so shocked. It was a long time ago. And I didn’t win, thank you very much.” She bowed. “Now you should look shocked,” she teased him. “One entry was a painting. The other entry was this really bizarre idea I had for tin cans.” She shook her head and laughed. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. Tin cans are definitely not one of my better mediums.”

“Do you want to go?” he asked, inwardly wincing at his lack of finesse.

Mia’s smile faded. “Huh?”

“Do you want to go? To Stratford Corners and the art festival? Because . . . because I do.”

“Are you asking me to go to the art festival with you?” she asked, her voice full of disbelief.

“Yes, but—”

“Mr. Yates, do you have laundry?”

Magda’s timing could not be worse. Brennan whipped around. “I don’t—”

“I do laundry now,” she announced loudly, as if he should know that.

“Okay, Magda. Would you like me to trot upstairs and get it for you?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

Magda shrugged. “I do laundry now,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen. Brennan sighed and turned back to Mia. She looked worried, and he assumed it was because she was going to turn him down.

How much worse could this get? He couldn’t even ask a girl out anymore. He felt like an idiot and he shrugged sheepishly. “I’m doing this very badly,” he said. “But I would like to take you to Stratford Corners’ art festival this weekend. If . . . if you’re free.”

Mia let the bag slide from her shoulder and caught it in her hand. It dangled next to her shin. She looked at the wall a minute, then at him. “You want me to go to Stratford Corners with you,” she repeated.

“Well. Not to put too technical a point on it, I want you to go to an art festival with me.”

“It’s hours from here,” she pointed out.

“Okay,” he said, wondering what the distance had to do with anything. He could not recall another time in his life that he’d had so much trouble asking a girl to go out with him. Not even when he was fifteen and told Brenda Wesley to meet him somewhere. He didn’t ask, he instructed, and she told him she would
never
go
anywhere
with him. “It’s not a trip you can make in a day.”

“I know.”

Her cheeks began to turn pink. “It’s also a big fancy resort area. Did you know that?”

“No,” he said uncertainly. “Does that mean something? Is it not the kind of art festival I think it is?”

“What it means is that the toilets up there have two flush buttons and heated seats.”

He shook his head.

“It’s not cheap.”

“Is that . . .” He shifted uncomfortably. God he sucked at this. Everything he said made it worse. “Is that a problem?” He heard the sound of a pickup in the drive, and suddenly, Brennan was desperate for her answer. “Mia . . . do I look like I care about money?” he asked her honestly.

She shook her head, her gaze skirting over him. “Most of the time you don’t look like you care about anything, really. Not money, not puppy mills, not the rain forest—”

“Then I guess my look is working, although I have to draw the line at puppy mills. I’d really like to take you to this art festival. That’s it. Yes, it’s an overnight trip. Would you like to go?” he asked, and tried not to flinch at the sound of the truck doors slamming outside, of men walking to the north wing.

She stared at him, debating. “That depends,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard the workers’ arrival, as if she had all the time in the world to torture him with her answer. “Are you willing to walk around and look at a lot of paintings and sculptures and things made out of wood and tin cans and glass?”

“Yes,” he said with an adamant nod.

“Are you willing to listen to me talk about them? And explain things? And critique things? Because I am pretty ruthless when it comes to art shows. I figure if you’re going to enter, you’d better be good.”

“I . . . I’m totally down with that,” he assured her.

“And you’re not going to sigh or look bored or act like you would rather be anywhere else than some little town in the Adirondacks looking at art?”

He heard the men in the salon, their voices carrying down the hall. “I’m not going to sigh or look bored. I’d really like to spend some time with you, Mia. If those are the conditions, you have my word. I will not look bored.”

“Are we going to stay in the same room?” she asked.

He blinked. Was there a good answer to that? “Whatever you want.”

She tilted her head to one side, mulling that over. But then she smiled. “Then yes, Brennan Yates, I would like to go with you.”

He felt such a wave of relief that he almost swayed with it. “Great,” he said. He was grinning. He was grinning like the day his mom bought him his first bike, like the day he’d signed his first contract, like the day Tuesday’s End had their first real hit.

“Great,” she said. She was grinning, too.

“Good morning!” Adonis strolled into the foyer. The dogs raced toward him, yapping, and Adonis dipped down onto his haunches to pet them. “How is everyone today?” he asked cheerfully, scratching both dogs behind their ears.

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m fabulous,” Mia chirped.

Jesse’s gaze was on Brennan. “Hey, buddy,” he said to Brennan.

Buddy
was the last thing Brennan was to Jesse Fisher. “Good morning.”

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, rising up to his full height, which, regrettably, was about an inch taller than Brennan.

“Not at all,” Mia said.

“Good. I hate to interrupt—again,” he said with a laugh, “but Mia, I’m not sure where the door is going to go in the new wall. Can you show me? And then the crew and I will get out of your hair.” He smiled so charmingly that Brennan almost smiled back.

“Sure.” She looked at Brennan. “Did we cover everything?”

“I think we did,” he said, and sipped his coffee.

“Okay. Talk to you later.” She turned around to Jesse.

“Hey, did you check out the spin class Drago was talking about?” Jesse asked as they began to walk down the corridor.

“Not yet. But I’m going to. Really, I am.”

Mia’s voice floated back to Brennan, who was still standing in the foyer. Still gripping his coffee cup so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t shatter in his hands.

“Mr. Yates, I do laundry now,” Magda called out to him.

That was the moment Brennan decided he was going to get a plane.

Seventeen

Mia was excited about Stratford Corners.

She wasn’t naive; she knew what she’d signed up for. She knew that she’d be in the same room with him. It was a little soon for that, maybe, but Mia was a healthy woman with healthy desires. She couldn’t stop thinking about Brennan, she couldn’t stop thinking about sex with Brennan, either, and the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to give it a whirl.

Mia was ready to explore this budding relationship. Even if he was a summer person and it went against every rule she’d ever made for herself.

At the end of the day Friday, she was picking things up, packing it in for the weekend. As she went outside to put her lunch bag in her basket, she heard the faint strains of a guitar from an open window upstairs. It was a haunting melody, a sad melody. Mia liked the bits and pieces she heard and wondered what Brennan intended to do with a song like that.

But then the music stopped, and Mia walked on.

She found Jesse sweeping up in the “north salon.” They’d taken to calling it the north salon this week in an affected British accent, and giggled like children when they did. The wall was down, and Jesse’s crew had braced the hole with some two-by-fours. Next week, Jesse explained to her, they would build some columns to secure the floor above.

Actually, Jesse had explained quite a lot to Mia about what they would do next week, but her attention had drifted. Jesse liked to talk about his work.

“It’s Miller time,” he said cheerfully when she walked into the room.

“At last!”

“Got any plans this weekend?” he asked as he dumped debris into a big plastic bag.

“Actually, yes,” she said. “I’m going to an art festival.”

“Oh yeah?” He picked up an extension cord and began to wrap it end over end in a circle. “I was hoping maybe we could get together.”

She smiled apologetically. She’d never in her life had two guys ask her out at the same time. She wasn’t the most experienced girl when it came to dating, much less more than one man. “Maybe next weekend?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t seem to like that, either, and in fact, he stared at the floor a moment. “Actually, I’ve been invited to a wedding in a couple of weeks. I’ve got a plus one if you’re interested.”

If she was interested?
As if she would go to the wedding of people she didn’t know because she was interested? It seemed an odd thing to say, but Mia let it go. “That might be fun,” she said. “Anyone I know?”

“Nah. He’s a guy I used to work with.” Jesse leaned down and picked up his things. “Can I give you a ride home?”

“Sure.”

Jesse loaded Mia’s bike into the back of his truck, then helped her into the cab as he had done every day this week. He chatted about his work on the way down to her apartment—he never asked about hers, Mia noticed—and once they arrived, he lifted her bike with one hand and leaned it up against the barn. “So,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking shyly at her. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“It’s the wedding,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. “I’d love for you to come. I thought about inviting you before today, but I’ll be honest, Mimi—I had cold feet.”

“Oh.” Mia was not offended by that. Frankly, she completely understood it—the universal rule of weddings was if you took a date, you could expect that the whole world would want to make you the next couple to head to the altar. “I totally get it,” she said. She felt magnanimous. The kind of girl who understood things, who would not make trouble for a guy like Jesse Fisher.

“You get it?” he asked, looking hopeful and sounding surprised. And then he suddenly laughed with relief. “Thank God, because I was really sweating it.”

She couldn’t imagine why he’d be sweating anything. She didn’t think she’d come across as high strung or needy in any way. “You didn’t really think I’d make a thing of it, did you? We’ve only been on one date.”

Jesse looked confused. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“I think so,” she said. “You don’t want everyone to think we’re a couple.”

Jesse’s smile faded. “No,” he said, “that’s not what—I was talking about what you wear, Mia. I can’t—I was just hoping you could wear something normal.”

The bottom fell out of Mia’s stomach. A swirl of emotions rose up in her, carrying some old hurts. Hurts she thought she’d grown past. “Normal,” she repeated. It was amazing how words like that still carried the same punch they had when she was a teen.

“Oh hey, I’m sorry.” He quickly grabbed both of her hands. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I
like
the way you dress. But these people are just really conservative, and I—”

“No, I get it,” she said, pulling her hands free of his grip. “Really, I get it. It’s okay—you don’t have to explain. I can wear something . . .” She tried to think of the right word.
Bland. Cookie cutter. Pink.
“I’ll borrow a dress from my cousin.”

Jesse smiled again, clearly relieved. “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He leaned down, kissed her lightly on the lips. He lifted his head and laughed a little. “I can’t be the first person to ask you that, right?”

No, he wasn’t the first, but that was beside the point. The point was that Mia wanted to be with someone who didn’t ask her at all. “It’s fine,” she said.

“Great,” he said, grinning boyishly again. “I’ll see you Monday. Have a good weekend at your art festival.”

“Yep.” She stood rooted to the drive as he put himself back in his truck and backed it up. She waved when he waved, and watched as he drove down the road. Even when he’d turned onto Juneberry Road, she didn’t move.

Were her clothes really so offensive? They were unusual, yes. But they weren’t indecent. They were interesting, they had substance to them, and thought behind them. What was wrong with that? Why were people always so surprised by it? Why did people want to look the same as everyone else in the world?

“Whatever,” she muttered. It had taken a long time, but Mia had come to terms with her style. She didn’t care who got it, because
she
got it.

She went into her apartment and looked around. It was funny how her view of the world had invaded this small space so quickly. There was the painting of the lanterns she’d started, waiting for her return to the easel. Emily’s dress was on a form, and the fabric for Skylar’s maxi neatly folded on the kitchen bar. She’d left the maps she’d used to make her dress on a chair near her bed, and beneath that, the fabric she’d designed with which she intended to make pants.

Normal.

Mia couldn’t be normal if she tried. She’d known that for ages, and she thought Jesse knew that, too. It wasn’t that she couldn’t put on a simple dress for the wedding; she could definitely do that. It was that his asking her, and her bending to his wishes, went against who she was, who she had worked hard to become.

Mia used to think that all she wanted was a career in art. But it was much more fundamental than that. What she wanted was for someone to come along and accept her just as she was. Someone who wouldn’t ask her to look “normal.” Someone who understood how her clothes, her art, her desires were all bits and pieces of what was on the inside of her, and to appear “normal” was to reduce and hide who she really was.

Mia was still brooding about being normal when Brennan arrived, and in private defiance of Jesse’s request, she’d dressed in the capri pants she’d made the night before, the knee-length sleeveless vest she’d made last week from some remnants she’d kept from her old job, a silky T-shirt underneath, two long strands of necklace, and around her head, a silk bandeau she’d made from her father’s repurposed ties.

She walked down the stairs before Brennan could come up. He had a first-day beard, and was wearing a knit hat and aviator shades this morning, a T-shirt beneath a denim jacket, and some pants that fit him snugly in all the right places. Mia’s pulse quickened just looking at him. The man was hot as hell. How had she ever thought otherwise?

“Wow,” he said, nodding as she walked down the stairs in her ankle boots. “You look fantastic. Like you stepped off a new designer’s runway. That’s the perfect thing to wear to an art festival, if you ask me.”

She smiled. She relaxed. “Thank you.”

He took her overnight bag without comment. Mia got in the car and pulled out her phone. “I was looking at the map,” she said as he climbed in and started the ignition. “It’s going to take several hours to get there, so I found us the quickest route.”

“It may not take that long,” he said as he pulled out onto Juneberry Road.

“Because you’re going to drive like an escaped convict?”

He smiled and covered her hand with his. “You’ll see,” he said.

She liked his hand on hers. “Just don’t kill me, that’s all I ask.”

“I’ll do my best.” He pulled her hand across the center console and held it against his thigh as he drove up Juneberry Road. Like he didn’t want to let go.

When they reached the road that would lead to the freeway, Brennan turned toward Black Springs.

“This isn’t the way,” Mia said.

He squeezed her hand. “Can you just relax and let this date go as I’ve planned?”

It was impossible for her to deny him that request when he made it with such a winsome smile. “It totally goes against my nature to relax, but because you’ve made some progress from the first time we met, I’ll give it the old college try.”

He chuckled. “Thank you. You won’t be disappointed.”

True to her word, Mia didn’t say another word until they pulled off that road and entered the gates of the tri-county executive airport.

“You’re not a pilot, are you?” Brennan asked as he coasted to a stop.

“Are
you
?”

“No.”

“Then what are we doing here? You do realize that you’ve gone in the wrong direction, don’t you?”

“Breathe,” he said, as a man emerged from the hangar, walking crookedly in their direction. His face was craggy and his wiry hair stuck out from beneath his cap.

Brennan stepped out of the car.

Mia did, too.

“You Yates?” the man asked, peering intently at Brennan.

“I am. You must be Willie.” He extended his hand.

The man shook it. “I’m ready if you are,” the man said, and turned around, heading for a small plane sitting on the tarmac.

Mia looked at the plane, then at Brennan. Her mouth dropped open with shock. “Are you kidding? We’re
flying
to Stratford Corners?”

“You were the one who said we haven’t got a lot of time.” He reached into the back of his car and pulled out their bags, then held out his hand to her.

Mia laughed with delight. “This is crazy!”

“You seem the sort to appreciate a little crazy,” he said, and tugged her along with him.

A quarter hour later, they were airborne, and Mia was giddy with delight. Pressed into Brennan’s side, she kept pointing out things below, unable to believe that she was here, in this plane, with this handsome man, flying up to an art festival like they were rich and famous.

They landed at an airstrip outside of Stratford Corners where a red minivan was waiting for them. Brennan told the pilot where he’d put him up for the night, and handed him two crisp one hundred dollar bills and sent him off to have a nice evening.

The minivan driver put their bags in the back. “I’ll take the bags on to the Crosswater Inn after I let you folks off,” he said.

Mia gasped—she knew about the Crosswater Inn. It was just outside of Stratford Corners, a picturesque resort with five-star dining and a PGA golf course. It was one of the preferred mountain getaways for the old money of the East Coast, famed for its seclusion and breathtaking scenery. She couldn’t imagine how much it would cost to stay there and she didn’t want to guess.

“It’s too much,” she said softly, shaking her head as the man drove them into town. “The plane, the Crosswater Inn—”

“It’s a date,” Brennan said. “I’m supposed to impress you, remember?”

“You already impressed me just by knowing about the festival,” she said. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I
wanted
to do this. And I can.” He kissed her temple. “Just enjoy it, will you?”

How could she not? She had never done anything as exciting as this. Mia sat up, cupped his chin and turned his face toward her, and kissed him on the lips.

When she lifted her head, Brennan’s eyes were twinkling with pleasure. “It would appear my stock has risen,” he murmured. “One room?”

“One room.”

When they reached the festival, Mia was bouncing with delight. He held her hands as they strolled through the streets and stopped at various booths to admire the work. She loved that he held true to his promise and never complained. He stayed in the background when she talked with different artists and seemed genuinely interested in the things she showed him, the things she admired. She pointed out the depth of color of some works. The motions and emotions of others. She talked about the intricate craftsmanship in the wood- and metalwork, the difficulty in putting some pieces together.